


the vault of heaven

by deuteroscopies



Series: the prophet and the king [31]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Heist, M/M, Magical Creatures, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Witches, adventure husbands, honey pot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deuteroscopies/pseuds/deuteroscopies
Summary: Ephram's not normally the first choice for a partner when there's a conman job to be done, but this time he's the one with the proposal for a little rescue adventure. Freddie couldn't be happier or more pleased to play honeypot; what else is a pretty fairy for?
Relationships: Freddie Watts/Ephram Pettaline
Series: the prophet and the king [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551673





	the vault of heaven

**Author's Note:**

> >   
>  Freddie Watts = Tom Hardy FC, Ephram Pettaline = Boyd Holbrook FC. These stories are set in the supernatural town of Soapberry Springs, in the Pacific Northwest. Freddie is a fairy con man from London, with cobalt-coloured dragonfly wings and silver fairy dust, who has a Japanese Chin familiar named Oliver; Ephram is a witch from impoverished East Kentucky who shares his body with a demon called Anaxis and has green magic of his own.
>> 
>> [the prophet and the king 'verse tumblr](http://theprophetandtheking.tumblr.com/)  
> 

“One’a them chickens thinks you’s it’s sweetheart, y’know.”

Ephram had already washed off most of the more objectionable mud and straw and whatnot from his hands at the outside pump, but he usually scrubbed them again at the kitchen sink with a nail brush. Oddly, it was Oliver who had insisted on this, but Ephram didn’t mind the extra ablutions. He supposed somebody whose nails were always touching the ground had the smartest ideas on keeping them up right.

“Honey?” Ephram leaned backwards so he could see into the living room, satisfied when he caught a glimpse of movement there. He got himself a Pop Tart from the cupboard (s’mores, the fruit ones were gross) and wandered over to see what Honey was doing. Something concerning the decor, naturally, but Ephram was curious what Freddie had moved onto now that he’d made his views on wainscoting (to the decided negative) absolutely clear.

Freddie, who was in the process of studying one of the living room walls - the one that most benefited from the glow of the afternoon sun when it cascaded through the windows - trying to decide what he really thought of the current accent colour being employed, and if it could be improved upon; or if the colour wasn’t the problem at all, and it was the Sabino table lamp he actually objected to; couldn’t help but grin when he heard Ephram calling to him from the kitchen, and he called back, “In here, love. Being fussy.”

And then he laughed, turning towards the kitchen door. “What’s this about my being a chicken’s sweetheart?”

He’d gone back to fussing though - mobile out, attempting to find an example of the very particular shade of green he had in his head - when Ephram wandered out to join him, horrifying Pop Tart in hand. And the fairy laughed out loud, wrinkling his nose, as his darling planted a smacking, marshmallowy kiss on the cheek that left crumbs, breath redolent with s’more.

Ephram wrapped an arm around Freddie with the kiss. “It’s that gold-laced frizzle, that one what stalks you when you’re near the coop. It’s either admiring you or thinks you’re admiring it.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fancy frilly strutting lil thing,” Ephram said fondly, making no particular distinction between Freddie and the chicken as he held up his half-eaten Pop Tart, just in case his frizzle fairy wanted a bite.

“Ah,” the fairy chuckled once his husband had explained precisely who his admirer was, “-that one. Is that really why it follows me around though? A crush? I couldn’t work out if it was fond of me, or trying to chase me away…”

Freddie pulled a face and made a snooty little ‘hardly’ sort of a noise when Ephram offered a bite of his snack, before grinning again; not at all bothered to be part of a coterie of fancy frilly strutting things - so long as he was the fanciest and the frilliest. “Like attracts like in some cases I suppose, though,” he teased, “-and that one is the prettiest. So maybe I should give it a name, yeah? Something befitting its plumage.”

“I reckon it did maybe think of runnin’ you out the yard at first,” Ephram said in contemplation as he finished off the pastry, “wanting to be the prettiest and whatnot. But after a while it gave in to – yeah, like you said – like recognizing like. Either that or keeping its enemy closer.” Ephram ruffled Freddie’s hair, casting the fairy’s scent into the air; he was the perfect height to fully enjoy that familiar, intimate fragrance, so he took advantage if it as often as he wanted to.

“You should name it, though!” Ephram agreed, pleased as always to have Freddie involved in the things that were important to him. Well, up to the limits of Freddie’s agreeable nature, that was; pursuits like camping or hunting or fishing, his darling drew an elegant line at. And Ephram wasn’t that big a fan of sitcom-style fish-out-of-water hi-jinks that he would insist Freddie come watch him field-strip a deer.

Freddie let out a little snort of mirth at the notion that he was being strategically manouevred by a chicken - a little bit delighted by the possibility; part of him hoping that that was the case - basking in the particular bliss of being touched with easy familiarity. “God knows what it’ll make of my peacocks when they arrive then,” he smirked. “Which they will do. Soon.” He dug his fingers teasingly into Ephram’s side, scrunching up his nose and giving his husband a jokingly pointed look. “Won’t they, love?”

“But I think I will give it a name, yeah,” the fairy grinned. “I mean, if Frizzle and I are to mean this much to one another, it seems the least I can do.” A thoughtful look crossed his face for a moment, and he looked at Ephram curiously. “Is it a boy chicken or a girl chicken though, darling?”

“Or do you think it’s best to go with the sort of name that’s free of gender altogether?”

Then, changing gears - as fairies, and Freddie particularly - were often wont to do, he nodded in the direction of the contentious lamp. “While I’ve got you here though, darling,” he asked, “-what do you think of that?”

“I can’t decide if I hate it, or if it just needs a bit of relocation…”

When Freddie bid Ephram give an opinion on a lamp that was new (or at least, new on the table) and he squinted at it to consider. “Looks a lil bit like a jellyfish,” Ephram said unhelpfully, but made some attempt at salvaging the comment by continuing, “–that corner gets sun come evening, though, so mayhap yon lamp would be better somewhere what’s got a place to sit? It looks too cosy to be where it is.”

Smiling, Ephram pulled away from Freddie a bit so they could look at each other. “We’re decorating our home together!” he exclaimed in a loud, thrilled whisper. “Freddie! It’s ours and we get to decide what it looks like forever.” Ephram bounced on his toes with his arms tightly folded, looking as if he was torn between fist-pumping, yowling, doing a touchdown dance, or any number of displays of winning.

Which, honestly, it felt like they’d done in pretty much every way imaginable, being together. “Winner winner no chicken dinner,” Ephram cawed nonsensically, chortling and hugging Freddie.

When Ephram went on to give his opinion on the vaguely treacherous table-lamp, the fairy shot the little accent piece a look as though it had just been caught in a lie under oath, exposing a truth that he himself had known all along - before turning a happy smile on his lover, pleased by his darling’s assessment. “I think you may be right, sweetheart,” he agreed, “So maybe I should put it upstairs - in the smallest guest room, yeah? Some place a bit more out of the way…”

Freddie glanced back at the wall, phone still in hand. “This colour though-”

But that was as far as he got.

Suddenly Ephram was beaming at him, eyes alight with an excited sort of joy that this was their house, to do with whatever they pleased, now and forever - and Freddie couldn’t help but be swept up on the same wave of elation. Grinning at the way his tall strapping witch looked, for all the world, like a jubilant little boy fit to burst.

“It absolutely is, love,” he laughed. “We can do anything we like with it. Inside, outside… name it, and it’s yours.”

“ _Ours_ ,” Freddie corrected with a grin. “Our little empire.”

And when Ephram gathered him up into his arms, cackling with glee, the fairy hugged him back tightly; his own laughter muffled for a moment against his husband’s neck, before he tilted his head to peer up at him with a giddy sort of confusion. “No chicken dinner?” he asked. “Why not? Isn’t that-”

Freddie screwed up his face, laughing again. “Bloody Americanisms. I’ll never work them all out.”

“No,” Ephram declared, “no, since we ain’t eating these chickens. We’re just plain winning, is all.” He grinned, bending his head to kiss Freddie delicately, taking little tasting sips from the fairy’s bee-stung mouth before melting in deeper. Freddie’s response – instant and encouraging – made Ephram’s hands tighten at the bases of Freddie’s wings for a moment, but carnal heat wasn’t where he was headed at the moment.

“Ah,” Freddie smiled brightly as Ephram bent to kiss him, “-well that’s alright, then.”

Happy to let his lips be sampled, the fairy parted them in easy invitation, returning his darling’s affection, and sighing happily at the gentle pressure of Ephram’s hands on the joints of his wings; his senses deliciously full of the man that he loved.

“Houses having names is cute,” Ephram said, still not having quite let go of Freddie, who laughed lightly at the notion of titling their home, rather liking the idea.. “I think we should do that. And once I finish the smoke-shed, now that I got the aviary done, maybe we could focus on inside. More, uh, personalization. For stuff we’re interested in doing. Upstairs.” Ephram was blushing furiously by this point, which – considering the things that he initiated in that upstairs room –was pretty rich. “Or maybe we could move that one up,” he laughed, summer freckles drowning in the pink across his cheekbones and nose.

“The vaguely pretentious naming of houses is something that both the British and the Southern like to indulge in,” he agreed, “-so we’ll add that to the list, yeah? After we sort out those personalisations you mentioned.” He grinned at his sweetheart’s blush, finding it utterly enchanting that it was the speaking of their room upstairs that inspired this sort of bashfulness and not even remotely the things that they got up to inside it, pressing his hands to Ephram’s flushed cheeks, his eyes sparkling. “I mean, we’ve got to keep our priorities in order…”

“Did you have anything specific in mind, love?” he asked, pushing up to steal another small peck of Ephram’s lips with his own naughty smirk. “Or shall we just do a little brainstorming together instead?”

“Priorities,” Ephram agreed, still a bit flushed but laughing nonetheless. He shook his head when Freddie asked if he had any firm ideas about how to modify the space, the fairy’s mischievous smirk matching the coquettish sweep of his eyelashes in a way that made Ephram’s throat suddenly dry.

It was a good thing they were never apart for long, Ephram thought gratefully. The last time had been post-Anaxis, when Ephram had been so sick and ragged from the demon’s rampage of torture that he couldn’t stand to be touched or cared for, could hardly eat or think past the hellish images in his head of Anaxis killing people and having nightmare sex with Bellamy and doing unspeakable things to Ephram’s body alone at night. He’d holed himself up in his pickup parked out at the beach where the salt air could get at him and he could convince himself it was scouring him clean.

It never fully worked, but what Ephram was surprised to find was that after a week or so of this, he missed Freddie and Ruby and wanted to get back home to them. They were supportive of him needing time alone, of course, but Ephram didn’t expect himself to want to be subject to love for quite a while. Mortifying the abused, unclean body that he never had full ownership of was his usual go-to, drowning it all in liquor and blow and fucking and blood and not caring overmuch whether he’d come out of it on the other side.

But it had changed, when Ephram realized he didn’t want to do those things, and he wanted to go home and let himself be treated far more kindly that he would’ve done.

Also, that he never wanted to be away from Freddie for that long ever again.

Bringing himself back to the question at hand, Ephram said, “Let’s save the plans for when we’s in bed, dumplin’. I got a feeling that’s where we’d be most productive in thinkin’ up some thoughts on what deeds are gonna need what changes.”

“That sounds like a very practical plan,” Freddie concurred, a warm wicked sort of happiness shining in his eyes and abiding in the curve of his lips as he thought about the various ways to get their creative juices flowing in that direction; already eagerly anticipating the sort of inspiration that might strike, and the scope of his husband’s imagination. He gave Ephram a teasing little wink. “Though if you stop in the middle of fucking me to wonder about wall studs, I’ll likely demand compensation.”

“I promise, all the boring carpentry stuff is gonna stay right up in my head where it belongs. Only discussions you’ll be in on is the ones dealing with how to display you the prettiest for me.” Ephram poked his nose into Freddie’s hair, grinning. “I mean hell, I didn’t marry you for your handyman skills, now did I. Whole 'nother toolkit of yours I’m interested in.”

“Now, as to the chicken, your lil frizzle twin.” Ephram twisted bits of Freddie’s hair until it stood up in points, not unlike the fancy little fowl who’d taken a shine to him. “I’d say go with freegender. I ain’t sexed a bunch of em yet so who knows.” His poultry concern had grown some since the initial coop and chickens, and Ephram had carefully acquired a scarlet-and-emerald rooster who crowed exactly three times at sunrise and no more. They were even starting to produce some eggs, which Ephram would bring in and put in a bowl for Freddie to admire the pale greens and creams and hearty browns and golden speckles of their shells.

“Now furthermore, as to them peacocks.”

Ephram idly picked up some paint chips, sorting through them and putting them in his own personal ‘right order’ of colours as he spoke. “I found a pair I want, and like all beautiful things – excepting you, darlin’ – getting my hands on em is gonna take a little work.” He grinned, running a fond fingertip up the line of Freddie’s ear. “And I want you to come with me for it.”

That his chicken’s name should stay unfettered by the concept of gender however made perfect sense as the conversation marched on, and Freddie nodded as Ephram played with his hair, his wheels already turning and churning up potential options. Ferretti? Gucci? Maybe Miu Miu, due to the feathers….

The fairy laughed at himself. “Is it ridiculous that I want to give it my ideas and see what it thinks?” he asked.

“It is, isn’t it? Since Frizzle likely won’t give a toss, whatever we call it…”

At the return to peacocks though, Freddie’s eyes lit up with a certain amount of excited expectation - though he spared some attention to keeping peripheral tabs on Ephram’s shuffling of the paint chips in case a preference emerged - and he preened at the compliment of being considered a beautiful thing, the tracing of his pointed ear sending a little shiver of pleasure through him.

“If you want me to come, then I’d love to,” he replied with an automatic grin, chuffed to be included in the venture. “Just what sort of work will we need to be doing, darling? I mean, I assume if I’m coming along it’s not entirely above board?”

The fairy beamed, not at all ashamed of either his particular set of skills, or his dubious morality. “What is it that makes these birds so special?”

Ephram handed Freddie the sheaf of paint chips, grouped into bunches of what he liked together, and addressed the matter of the chicken with a quiet thrill at how completely his husband had taken to the little birds. “No, you should ask Frizzle which one it likes,” Ephram confirmed. “They’s smart lil critters, and since this is Soapberry you never know what sorts’ve special abilities they got.” He huffed in fond amusement, adding, “–might even be that Frizzle would appreciate being consulted on the matter.”

The fairy took back his collection of paint chips, taking a moment to study Ephram’s colour combinations and finding himself more than pleased by what he saw, already able to picture those same choices in their living room. “You, my love, have a very good eye,” he announced suddenly, not giving much in the way of context to indicate what he was on about as he set the chips down and gave Ephram a little cuddle. “I think I know how I’m going to paint now,” he grinned, before shifting gears to follow his husband back to the matter of his nameless chicken.

Laughing, he nodded. “Alright, I will then,” he said, “-but you’ve got to distract Oliver for me.” Still chuckling, Freddie glanced over at the sofa where the little Chin was now sleeping soundly in the sunshine. “If he knows I’m actively discussing things with chickens, I’ll never hear the bloody end of it.”

Ephram didn’t miss the spark of excitement and anticipation in Freddie’s expression when told that he would be needed for the peacock collecting, and the witch briefly considered wrapping Freddie in his arms and making out like teenagers for the next couple hours before yanking himself back to the matter at hand. “They’s kept at an old vamp’s mansion,” Ephram said, his voice hardening somewhat as he elaborated, “and he forces em to display multiple times a day to keep himself lookin’ fresh. Apparently it’s some sort of vampire beauty spa treatment for when you've rounded 400 and are heading for the finish line.”

He gave a shrug, not pretending to know or understand the cosmetic desires of vampires. “What I don’t like is the peacocks ain’t meant to do that. They should only be displaying on their own terms, otherwise they die a lot sooner from fangface there sucking up their radiance. That’s what they’re called, the peacocks, they’re Radiances.” Ephram smiled slightly, touching Freddie’s ear again. “So you think you might be up for playing honeypot, pretty darlin’ of mine?”

Freddie listened with interest as his husband explained the ins and outs of the peacock situation, instantly feeling a bit of kinship with the birds at the way they were being used, and Freddie nodded again when he was asked if he was willing to play honeypot to free them. “Absolutely, love,” he said, leaning into the touch of his ear and smiling again - though it was a bit more subdued this time given the reality of shortened lifespans and liberties taken, matching Ephram’s own. “I mean, even if the poor things weren’t being abused, they’re called Radiances - how in the world could I ever say no?”

Ephram hummed happily once Freddie’s comment and compliment regarding the paint chips resolved itself more solidly, demurring, “Oh, I dunno – reckon if you spend as much time as I do looking at birds, you get an eye for colours. Although, darlin', you’s the artist in the family. I might be capable of contributing a basic colour scheme, but it’s your twinkly blue eye’s gonna really turn this place into our home.”

Ephram gave a chuckle at the thought of distracting Ollie, nodding and jutting out his chin bravely. “Aye-aye,” he said, the words brisk. “I’ll have them scampis and a copy of Gosford Park ready to go so he can point out the inaccuracies and tell me who’s dressed the best.” Which, honestly, wasn’t far off from how Ephram spent time with Oliver normally; it was amazing how much the little Chin could convey with a series of expressions and nuanced woofs and snorts. Getting to observe how fairy and familiar interacted helped, too.  
  
Freddie’s praise of his witch’s good taste, Ephram accepted with his usual modesty - though the fairy knew that his admiration was always welcome, even in the moments that his husband had trouble receiving it. When Ephram went on to assure him however that he was the artist in the family, and that he would be the one to make their house a home, there were simply too many lovely things in that statement to address at once - things that Freddie had never thought possible - so he did the only thing that felt appropriate; he pulled his redwood down for another kiss. Warm and bright and infused with a bone-deep sort of happiness.

And when he let him go again, he laughed at Ephram’s plan for keeping Ollie distracted, his happiness buoyed once more by the simple fact of the bond between his husband and his familiar; the easy friendship and trust that they shared.

Ephram communicated with Oliver better than Freddie had ever seen anyone manage with a familiar who wasn’t their own, and it was wonderful in ways that he could scarcely express. So he didn’t try. He just enjoyed it and left it alone to flourish.

“Well, you’ve certainly got his number,” the fairy chuckled, “Get him in front of Gosford Park and Frizzle and I will have enough time to set the world to rights, let alone choose a name.”

Freddie paused for a moment, then carried on with a smile, “Should we name the other ones too, do you think? Mine’s likely to be a terrible snob if it’s the only one out there who has one…”

“It’s a heist that’s practically got Freddie fairy dust all over it,” Ephram agreed. “They’s blue and gold and pearl, Radiances are. There’s some special ability they got with their beaks but I ain’t been able to find out what yet.”

“And most vampires have a bit of a weakness for fairies anyway,” Freddie went on. “The way we smell, the way we taste… they’re a bit predisposed to want us if we’re on offer…”

Freddie gave Ephram a wry little smirk. “And lets be real, yeah? Being attractive to vampires is something I’m very well-versed in.”

He reached up and gave Ephram’s beard an affectionate little tug. “So what exactly were you thinking thus far, darling? What else do we know about this bloke?”

As Freddie began talking about the lure of fae blood when it came to vampires, Ephram stayed carefully still; when Freddie outright alluded to Martin Adjaye however he couldn’t help growling like a junkyard dog, hackles raised. “Damn him to Hell,” Ephram swore, almost nipping his tongue from how sharply he clacked his teeth shut on the burst of words.

Probably knowing that Ephram would get rumbly when Adjaye was brought up, Freddie tugged at Ephram’s beard and the witch relented, cupping one hand behind Freddie’s head and pressing his lips to his husband’s hairline. “I don’t want any of this to remind you of that,” he said sternly. “You tell me if it’s too much and we’ll get outta there faster’n gooseberries through a groundhog.”

Ephram waited for confirmation before continuing. “You know that mansion three streets over that looks like a Disney villain lives there? That’s him. Viscount Michel de … uh … Fluffernutter? Something like that.” Ephram made his well-worn expression of not understanding some people at all, and added with a snicker, “–he don’t like it, though, not in this modern world. Now he just goes by Vic Mick.” The expression intensified.

“Mostly what I learned is that he’s a horny ol’ bugger, partial to twinks and talking to folks while he’s buck nekkid in his bathtub. And he has a huge collection of olive oil, it’s like, the only thing he gives a shit about in the whole world. From extinct olives and magical ones and all sorts of craziness.”

As they went on to talk in more detail about procuring the Radiance peacocks, Ephram’s forceful reaction to the idea of Martin made Freddie sorry he’d called attention to his past at all, not wanting it to cast a shadow over the sunshine of their present - even though the sight of his lover’s anger on his behalf sent an aching warmth blooming through his chest. And when Ephram pressed his lips to Freddie’s hairline, telling him they would abandon this little enterprise altogether should it prove uncomfortable for him in any way, the fairy shook his head, a small smile on his lips and his eyes full of love. “It’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he said confidently. “Apples and oranges, yeah?”

That this bitey old prat seemed to simultaneously be a slave to the to-ings and fro-ings of cultural trends - Vic Mick, indeed - while still remaining stuffily mired in his Old World extravagances, had Freddie stifling a little snort of amusement. “Perfect,” he said, “Horny old bastards and nudity also happen to be specialities of mine, so we’re all set.”

He glamoured himself into his much twinkier teenage version, dressed for a very warm summer afternoon - pert and plump in all the right places, dewy and lean in the rest. “I’ll just knock on his door and go from there, shall I?”

Ephram chuckled at Freddie’s mind wandering afield to concern about their chickens all feeling like they fit in with each other. “No,” Ephram decided. “Frizzle took the time and effort to git obsessed with you and follow you round, so Frizzle gits a name for its troubles. That’s the fair way to do it.”

Apples and oranges, as Freddie put it, was enough to mollify Ephram’s concerns about Adjaye’s lingering influence on his husband, and he nodded, accepting that Freddie knew his own limits. He snorted at Freddie’s comment about his areas of specialty, starting to say, “Well, dumplin’, all things considered – them horny ol’ bastards....”

The words lost themselves in the ether when Freddie slipped into his glamour, mouth-wateringly fresh and ripe, and Ephram reached for him without thinking. “Good God, honey,” he said, throat suddenly gone dry. “He opens the door and sees this, old feller’s gonna pop his fangs and a boner right there’n then.” He turned Freddie this way and that, hungrily taking in the youthful geography of his body before his fairy had bulked up, sculpted himself; before the green had worn off. The conversation drifted on - Frizzle’s impending name and the pertinent details of Vic Mick’s day-to-day all addressed as they came - and by the time Ephram had pressed his lips to Freddie’s forehead, his murmured claim of ‘Mine’ resounding through the fairy like a benediction, Freddie couldn’t wait to get started on both.

* * *

The plan (such as it was; Ephram’s plans tended to be loosey-goosey to accommodate for unforeseen circumstances, and certainly Freddie could change to adapt like dandelion fluff on the wind) was for glamoured-up Ephram and Freddie to deliver a shipment of specialty olive oil to Vic Mick. While Ephram supposedly decanted the oil through a complicated process required to keep it from turning sour, Freddie would distract the old windbag in whatever way he saw fit as Ephram in actuality was fetching the Radiances.

“Only problem with being Sheriff,” Ephram grumbled as they tied on their delivery aprons outside, “is being recognizable as such in situations where I’d rather not be. Gowon–” he lifted his chin, “–glamour me to look a lil older but still ordinary. He’s gonna be focused on you anyhow, but I want ‘im to not remember me at all.” It would be lying to say that Ephram wasn’t slightly nervous about this, and he gave Freddie a sidelong look, figuring his beloved husband and consummate con artist would be able to tell. “My criminal past involved mostly smash n’ grab type ventures, just so’s you know,” he said. “So I’m counting on you for the finesse.”

Doing his best to suppress his desire to chuckle at his husband as Ephram groused about his high profile as Sheriff, Freddie finished tying on his apron, then did as he was told, dusting Ephram lightly and changing his handsome blond yeti into a slightly older, and distinctly more ordinary, man.

This new Ephram was blandly pleasant-looking (neither handsome, nor hideous; simply pleasant), with sandy brown hair; of medium height, and medium build, with no distinguishing features at all. He was nothing more than there - the sort of person that makes no impression whatsoever unless circumstance dictates it.

A composite sketch, made flesh and blood.

Which meant that he was absolutely perfect.

“There,” Freddie said with a smile, once he’d finished, “-you’re dull as dishwater now, love. Our old bastard shouldn’t want to give you a second look.” The fairy glamoured himself into his younger version, making a few subtle changes here and there - darkening his hair, changing his eyes to brown - and then he touched his throat, banishing his English accent and replacing it with something generically ‘Pacific Northwest’ instead.

Taking his husband’s hands in his, teenaged Freddie gave them a squeeze of reassurance when Ephram’s trepidation shone through. “Good thing I’m all about finesse then, huh?” he said in his borrowed voice, eyes sparkling as he stole a quick kiss.

“Dull as dishwater, huh?” Ephram fixed his husband with a stern look. “You better not have made me look like Tuah. I know you think he’s the definition of beige and all but that would go completely against our goal here.”

But his teasing (well, only half-teasing – Freddie absolutely had enough fae mischief in him to do exactly such a thing) fell away when Freddie not only slipped into the supple youth of his former self, but also started to talk in the sing-songy way that folks around these parts did. “Babe,” Ephram said into the kiss, licking his lips after, “I love you and I never get tired of how handsome you are and how your voice sounds, but don’t never be anything other’n English for me. American you is too unnerving.”

Freddie grinned. “Everything’s gonna be awesome, baby; I promise. You just do what you gotta do to get our birds, and lemme worry about the rest, okay?”

Ephram turned to face the door as Freddie rang, grumbling, “ _Awesome_ , my ass. Never thought I’d hear you use that sort of language–” (as if Freddie had been wildly swearing), “–and I better not ever hear you use more of it after this caper is–-oh, hey, good afternoon, hello. Mr. Vic Mick?”

Ephram’s objection to his vocal subterfuge prompted another chuckle from the fairy, even as he teasingly objected in his new voice, “Unnerving? Jeez… you’re gonna make me self-conscious…” But his darling’s continued grumbles over his efforts at an American speech pattern were adorable, and Freddie grinned, murmuring in his own cadence as they took their positions at the door - the rhythm jangling a bit oddly without his accent - “Sorry, Daddy. Only proper English once we’re home again, yeah?” The last word barely out of his mouth when the front door swung open, revealing the less-than-sterling specimen on the other side.

He wasn’t hideous, physically, Freddie had to admit - very rarely were vampires less than extremely attractive; the trouble was that Vic Mick just appeared to be utterly tone-deaf when it came to presentation.

And, true to what they knew of his form, Freddie already had the old goat’s attention without so much as saying a word.

The vampire who’d opened the door seemed to have styled himself like an aged rock star, wearing a frock coat with the velvet rubbed a bit thin in places with creaky leather leggings and a black tshirt with an artful hole just under the collar. It wasn’t as if he was bad-looking, but his bony bare feet gave off a faintly rancid smell and for some reason he’d seen fit to tie his lank yellow hair back into a braid, flip it upward, and then fasten the tail to the crown of his head.

“Why, yes,” Vic Mick droned, stroking one hand down the front of his shirt with every iota of his attention fixed on Freddie. It would be easy to think that the old vampire was struck stupid right away, but without looking away from the fairy at their van, he said, “I’m not expecting an oil delivery today. What gives, pretty pretty?”

Vic wasn’t an idiot, you had to give him that much. His focus never deviating from the fairy in front of him, eyes crawling appreciatively over Freddie’s currently youthful facade, he demanded to know what was going on and Freddie’s face fell into a distressed vulnerable sort of confusion. “You’re not?” he asked, turning to glance anxiously back at their van, as though it could somehow explain the problem to him, and then turning back to the vampire. “’Cause it says that you do. See?” He grabbed the clipboard that Ephram was holding and stepped closer Vic to show him the manifest. “I mean, you’re Vic Mick-” Freddie said, tapping the affected old pervert’s name on the paper, “-and it says here that you got a shipment today that’s already paid for.”

“So can’t you just… you know… take it anyway?” the fairy asked, looking up with big hopeful blue eyes, “‘Cause I already messed up three deliveries this week, and if I get fired from this job, my dad’s gonna have my ass…”

“Your … dad, eh?” A salacious smile crawled across Vic Mick’s face, revealing his gleaming fangs. “I’ll be polite, my dear, and not ask you in what capacity your daddy will have your ass. The mental wanderings are much more distracting.” He wrapped an arm around Freddie’s shoulders, lace cuff tickling the fairy’s ear as the vampire drew him inside. “The oil tanks are on the south terrace,” Vic said perfunctorily to Ephram. “Fill them up and then wait downstairs. I’d like to show Pretty Pretty here some of what that glorious oil goes to.”

Ephram gave a stolid nod, catching Freddie’s eye and holding his gaze for a moment. He was excited to be doing a con with Freddie – if things started to go pear-shaped, Freddie could most likely right them – but mainly what concerned Ephram was not being as good a partner as goddamn Cardero was. If he’d stopped to really think it through, Ephram might have cut himself some slack seeing as he was a poor liar, not terribly cunning, and lacking in avarice (all of which made Iann a perfect con partner, as he was in possession of all three qualities). But his kneejerk dislike for Iann kept him from being rational.

It didn’t take too long for Vic to draw Freddie aside, and up a winding free-standing spiral staircase with wrought-iron railings and red shag carpeting. “What are you, sweetling?” the old vampire asked. “You look far too luscious to be a mere human. Even in their prime, humans never are as … delectable as you are.”

He shouldered Freddie against the wall, leaning in to scent him. Up close, Vic Mick smelled of cognac, cold ashes, and again that faintly rancid oil; his poreless skin drawn tight and giving the impression of never-ending hunger. “Have you ever been ravished by vampyr, my boy?” he hissed, fangs dropping lower as he ran one hand over Freddie’s chest.

Freddie, who currently appeared to be somewhere between sixteen and seventeen at a glance, just chuckled along with an affable sort of confusion - a boy laughing because the grown-ups were laughing, without really understanding the joke - a bit surprised that the sleazy old vamp didn’t merit more visits from the Sheriff’s department, if this was what he thought passed for polite conversation with a teenager. And he allowed himself to be herded inside, letting out a breathy huff of a giggle and squirming just a little more than was strictly necessary when Vic’s lacy cuff brushed his ear, trying not to let the cloying smell of the man - so much stronger now that he was tucked up under his arm - show on his face.

“Okay, cool,” the fairy said, American accent still firmly in place as he met Ephram’s eyes and gave a surreptitious nod of his head to reassure his husband that everything was going along as it should - and then he paused, looking up at Vic Mick again, that same affable confusion present in his eyes. “Don’t you cook with it though?” he asked, “I mean… isn’t that kinda the only thing olive oil’s good for?”

Vic drew Freddie deeper into the sitting room however, and up a flight of stairs - the wrought-iron churning the fairy’s stomach and causing his head to begin to ache - making it rather clear that the vampire’s affection for olive oil had precious little to do with any sort of culinary pursuits; and Freddie swallowed his gorge, not wanting to be sick on the garish red carpet, as he put on his best awkward teenage blush and answered the old lech’s questions with a wash of youthful ego layered over inexperienced uncertainty and a hunger for praise.

Martin, after all, had always seemed to enjoy that (or his cock had, at least) - so why not play the hits? Even though it was decidedly odd that Vic Mick hadn’t been able to smell him out as a fairy as soon as he’d opened the door…

Freddie’d never known a vampire who hadn’t.

But whatever. Maybe the smarmy old bastard couldn’t smell anything over the rancid whiff of his own body anymore. Stranger things had happened.

“I’m a fairy,” Freddie said, obviously aware of his good looks, and squaring his shoulders slightly with bravado - though his cheeks were still pink from the drippingly sexual nature of the compliments. “So I guess that kinda-”

But before he could go on, having reached the top of the stairs, Vic crowded him up against the wall - thankfully putting some distance between Freddie and the iron - all fangs and hands, and taking his role as an extra from an Anne Rice party scene very seriously indeed. He wanted to know if Freddie had ever been ravished by a vampyr before (Freddie could actually hear the ‘y’ in the word), and Freddie just gazed up at him, fairly certain he’d achieved the optimal balance of wide-eyed heart-pounding shock, and knee-jerk hormonal curiosity, that this man was looking for.

Lips parted in surprise, the fairy ‘boy’ licked them like it was a unconscious nervous habit, then blushed again, dropping his eyes and shaking his head as though he were embarrassed. “No…”

“I’m mean, I’m not like, a virgin or anything…” he added quickly (too quickly), pulling a face as though the word itself was sour, and shrugging his shoulders, fidgeting, “…just, you know… not with a vampire…”

Vic was silent for a moment, continuing to gaze at him as though Freddie had just been wheeled in on the dessert trolley, and Freddie bit his lip around a smile, his teenage version seemingly having suddenly recovered his cockiness, canting his hips slightly, and hoping that Ephram had already located the birds so that he wouldn’t have to take this nonsense to its logical conclusion.

“We deliver to Erzebet’s though,” he said, “-so I know fairies are supposed to taste pretty good…”

“And I know it’s supposed to be, like, really hot - getting bitten like that…”

Vic laughed indulgently, drawing a long-nailed finger down Freddie’s chest. “No, of course you’re not a virgin, strapping lad like you. I’m sure they flock to you.”

The careless way that Vic assumed he could touch Freddie said a lot about what the vampire thought of himself, the liberties he could take with anybody who entered his mansion. Even when they were there professionally and had a work companion.

Who was currently not hooking up any sort of oil transfer, but instead was scouting for the Radiance peacocks in Vic Mick’s bizarrely arranged bestiary. “All that money and he couldn’t get somebody with some god damn sense to design this?” Ephram muttered in disgust, pausing to disentangle the paw of some weird otter-type thing from the gilded netting it was stuck in. The otter-thing bit him briefly, but since it didn’t break skin, Ephram took that as a thanks rather than offense.

As he moved deeper into the chaotic thicket (jungle? forest?) Ephram found that it progressed into more confusing twists and turns, more rare creatures, more various sounds and noises that came from nowhere in particular and yet seemed all around him. He was just starting to worry that maybe he’d overestimated his ability to track birds when he stepped through a slimy mat of vines and caught sight of a brilliant blue – peacock blue, punctuated by creamy pearl and burnished gold.

Ephram’s breath caught at the sheer beauty of the birds – two of them – and he had just enough time to see that their beaks were bound with golden bands before he heard a rustle behind him, and found a rocky fist connecting with his face. There was an explosion of pain in his eye and cheekbone, and Ephram grabbed onto the atronach’s wrist and dipped his shoulder, driving it into her chest. He managed to shove her back an inch or two, but that was all; with a snort of annoyance, the atronach guard clamped her hand around Ephram’s throat, squeezing until consciousness swam up and away.

* * *

Vic had, during this time, led Freddie to his olive oil-filled bath, shed his clothing, and slipped into it. “Come sit close, pretty pretty,” he urged, gesturing to a gilded stool positioned right where it would be easiest to keep Freddie in reach. He availed himself of this right away, stroking Freddie’s bare arm with one slick hand and massaging the oil in.

Despite Vic’s own slightly rancid smell, the actual oil wasn’t bad at all, redolent of lemon and bay and almost as light as water. “Lovely, isn’t it?” the old vampire simpered. “Perhaps, pretty pretty, you’d like to join me for some–”

Whatever risque offer Vic was about to make was preempted by the phone next to his bathtub ringing. He made a face, holding up a finger to forestall Freddie’s leaving, and answered it with a curt, “Yes?”

The moment the phone rang, Freddie had felt his stomach turn to ice. He couldn’t say why exactly - there was no reason to think things had gone wrong so quickly; no alarms had sounded, and Vic might actually have a mate or two that could want to speak to him - but still, Freddie was certain, deep in his gut, that they’d made a mistake somewhere. Failed to take something into account, and now it was here to bite them on the arse.

Or, conversely, to keep Freddie’s arse from being bitten.

However you spun it though, the fairy knew he had to get out of this room. He had to find Ephram. Because whatever had happened - since he was sat here being leered at by Vic Mick himself - Ephram was likely in the thick of it.

It would take an enormous amount of fairy dust to incapacitate a vampire - more than Freddie could produce without an uninterrupted act of will and concentration - but a glamour would do. He could disappear, or make himself hard to focus on, and get back out the door. Throw up a few Escher-type confusions behind him and find Ephram…

Except that his heart was beating faster in spite of himself - his well-learned fear of vampires creeping in without permission, making his hands shake slightly - as Vic Mick’s anger was confirmed in his posture as he was suddenly standing in front of Freddie in a dressing gown, face contorted with fury. “Little fool,” he sneered; and before Freddie could make a move, the fairy was outdone by vampiric speed, rage, and strength. Vic’s fist smashed into the side of his head with all the power and weight of a breeze block, cracking his jaw and sending him reeling.

Freddie was in the middle of losing consciousness, the black swimming in from all sides, when that same breeze block caught him a second time, driving into his stomach, and he crumpled down onto the floor.

After a beat of making sure that the fairy wasn’t in any condition to fight back, Vic picked up the phone again. “I’ll bring this one out to the terrace. We can hook up my oil delivery and throw them both in the tank to drown.” He paused, with a sudden smile.

“It might even make for an even better bath oil to preserve my vampyr beauty!”

* * *

Fortunately, being a fairy - and having been through worse at the hands of a vampire before - Freddie’s body was able to repair this reasonably low level of damage rather quickly, and he came to again over Vic Mick’s shoulder as he was being carried down to the terrace. But he didn’t stir. Given the imbalance of physical power between them, the time to think was worth more than any element of surprise might be. And maybe, Freddie thought, the old bastard’s ego might be stroked a bit to think that he’d done this fairy enough damage that his dust was having a hard time putting him right again.

His worry for Ephram was enormous though - sharp and painful and all-encompassing - and Freddie did his best to quell it, not wanting the thump of his heart to give him away; trying simultaneously not to panic, and to work out which were reasonable assumptions to make.

The first, obviously, was that there was at least one other person in the house - maybe more - and that had to be what had fucked them. Ephram had to have stumbled across this person - people? - when he’d been looking for the birds, and that person had alerted Vic. If they were lucky, it was a thrall - preferably a human thrall, but any sort of a thrall would do. Thralls were addled by service and addiction to their masters, and that could be exploited - and, provided they weren’t a werewolf, they could be dusted easily.

A wolf would take more effort, but it could still be done. Another vampire and they were beyond fucked. A small army would be easier to get the better of than a pair of determined vampires.

Vampires would need to be negotiated with, until an angle could present itself.

(So long as Freddie could keep his own nerves under control.)

Secondly, the instant he’d lost consciousness, the glamours he’d been spinning for himself and Ephram had fallen away. They looked like themselves again, for better or worse, and that could yield a mixed bag of results. On the one hand, Ephram was the Sheriff, and that fact might act as a deterrent to any particularly nefarious inclinations Vic Mick and company might have - but on the other, that might just make everything worse.

Before Freddie could come up with a third item though, the fairy was being dropped heavily onto the ground, the mid-morning sunshine warm and welcoming after the relative gloom of the house.

And Freddie silently opened his eyes - though he glamoured them to appear shut - hoping that Ephram would be there, sprawled out beside him.

There was no swimming slowly up to consciousness this time; Ephram jolted back awake in one ugly swell of pain and nausea, the force of it – as well as the blood from a cut over his eyebrow, he’d discover later – blurring out his vision for a moment.

But he didn’t need to see to know that the person on the ground across from him was Freddie. Looking all in one piece and not damaged, Ephram catalogued in relief, and by then his head had cleared enough–

“–Sheriff, really? Well I don’t care who they are. This town chews up sheriffs and fairies all the time, nobody’ll miss them if they shuffle off the mortal coil.”

That was Vic Mick, then, talking to the atronach thrall who’d hauled Ephram in. And apparently full of flagrant disregard for the law as well as the morals regarding hitting on much younger people and the captivity of rare and sentient birds.

“Besides, I want them soaked in my oil blend! Death essences will make this tank of oil delectable, don’t you think?”

The atronach grunted in agreement and Ephram thought, _pettaline, you best be fixin’ to saddle up and hightail it the fuck outta here afore you and dumplin’ end up bath oil_.

But that was easier said than done. Especially because the atronach then picked Ephram up and threw him bodily into the open top of the big copper tank, followed swiftly by Vic Mick grabbing Freddie by his wing-joints, long fingernails tearing through shirt fabric as he flung the fairy in after his witch.

Ephram looked terrible; his face - the bit that wasn’t smeared with drying blood - already bruising and swelling where he’d been hit; and Freddie’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of him, though that agony gave way to a palpable relief the instant he saw his darling jolt back to consciousness.

Despite the way Ephram’s blue eyes came flying open though, he didn’t move; just laid cagily still as Vic Mick and his atronach toady merrily discussed murdering them - and Freddie did the same. Any chance that they had to get the upper hand here (or even just to save themselves from becoming the world’s most unpleasant bath oil) was largely reliant on Vic Mick’s being an arrogant sod. At the moment, he was content simply to let them drown as they were - able-bodied. But that might very well change if he believed them to be capable of escape.

So Freddie could only watch helplessly, steeling himself so as not to wince when his husband was thrown unforgivingly into the nearby vat, and then hold his breath against the pain of being lifted by his wings when the same thing was done to him a moment later.  
  
The oil was the same as Freddie had seen in the bathtub upstairs, light and fragrant, and might have been pleasant in another context. But weighing down their clothes and about to come gushing through the fill hose to drown them, it somehow lost its potential charm.

Fortunately the oil in the tank at the moment was enough for Ephram to stand in with it just reaching his shoulders; he grabbed hold of Freddie, not knowing yet if the other man was conscious. “Honey, can you hear me?” Ephram asked, jogging Freddie slightly in his arms. “We gotta avail ourselves of an egress right fuckin’ quick, Freddie, or else our next stop is that mangy ol’ vampire’s bath sponge.”

”

The fairy hit the oil with a heavy-sounding splash, sinking quickly - but Ephram hauled him back up again almost as fast, shaking him a bit to make sure he was conscious; and Freddie coughed, doing his best to wipe the oil from face, clearing it from his eyes. “I can hear you, sweetheart,” he said, leaning up, though it very much wasn’t the time, to brush his slick oily lips across Ephram’s, “Are you alright?” The sound of the hose thickly pumping in ever more oil distracted him though, and he turned to look at it; the horror of what was being done to them settling on him for a moment before he shoved it off again - horror being incredibly unhelpful in moments of crisis.  
  
The hose coupling jerked from the gushing oil getting heavier. Ephram stared at it, swallowing hard, and said, “Babe, we gotta give ourselves a crash course in tandem magic right the fuck now."

“Fucking hell,” Freddie muttered, “He’s a bloody Bond villain,” before turning back to Ephram. “Alright, first, let’s fix you up, yeah?” But the thickness of the oil coating his skin created a bit of an issue for Freddie’s dust - much the same as being underwater did - and for a moment the fairy’s face darkened, frustrated by his own limitations. But it was only for a moment, only until his thinking could get around the corner again, and then he smiled. “Open your mouth, love,” he said, before exhaling a stream of dust through his own lips, and healing the damage done to Ephram’s face, fading the bruises on his neck.

And when he was done, Freddie blew on his own hands, glamouring the oil on them into fine dry white sand. Brushing it off before letting the glamour drop again, he held his hands above the deepening oil (deeper for him than for Ephram) like a scrubbed up surgeon.

“Tandem magic then, sweetheart,” he said, pushing up a little further on his toes as the fragrant oil crept higher, rising steadily. “Whatever you think we should try, I’m all ears.”

Freddie’s inventiveness in how to deploy his fairy dust sent a rill of pride through Ephram’s chest at the same rate as the pounding flares of pain in his face drained out of him, and he planted one more little kiss on his husband’s mouth before watching Freddie meticulously de-oil his hands, ready for more magic.

“Okay, let’s try this.” Ephram’s magic didn’t mind the oil; it actually seemed to facilitate how fast his green magic moved, tendrils of it snaking through the viscous liquid to make the entire tank glow a faint apple green inside. “Thank the Lord,” Ephram muttered. “Wouldn’t be able to hold you up iffen I had to get my hands dry, huh, darlin'.” Which was becoming more of an issue by the moment as oil kept on glugging into the tank, rising ever higher.

“I need you to mix your dust in the oil,” Ephram said, hoping to high heaven this would work somehow. “And make it all light up bright as you can, bright enough so it glows out this tank. Them Radiance peacocks know I’m here – if we can get their attention, they might be able to help.” Ephram paused. “Uh, depending on what the hell their secret special power is, ‘cause I still don’t know.”

Freddie trusted Ephram implicitly when it came to all things avian - if his darling said that the Radiance peacocks might be willing and able to help him, then Freddie believed absolutely that they would - but still, before he obeyed his husband’s directive, he thought it was worth trying to glamour the vat of oil into something more innocuous first.

Namely because drowning, for Freddie, at least - shortarse that he was; his wings currently too laden with oil to be of any use flying - was becoming a rather pressing concern.

Ping pong balls, the fairy thought, seemed a decent alternative - the oil, after all, had turned into sand easily enough - and he could still light those up to attract the birds.

It became painfully clear after only a moment’s effort though that the vat itself had been enchanted to keep its contents from being tampered with - because try as he might as Ephram held him, Freddie couldn’t do a bloody thing with the oil as a whole. He could glamour it only if it was free of the tank and clinging entirely to either he or his witch - so he didn’t waste any additional time after that. Freddie just did as he’d been told.

Releasing cascades of dust from the palms of both hands, and in a slow steady exhalation from his mouth, Freddie manipulated the air in the tank to shoot the twisting swirling silvery streams through the green glow of the oil; closing his eyes to concentrate on lighting it up like fireworks, the shimmering apple green that he and Ephram stood in suddenly lit bright with glittering starbursts.

“Perfect,” Ephram breathed, unable to keep his mind entirely on the gravity of the situation, the beauty of their entwined magic almost demanding to be acknowledged before it would serve its desired purpose. Considering that half of it came from Freddie, Ephram thought in addendum, that could very well be the case.

The slam of a rocky fist against the side of the tank let them know that the magical glow had permeated enough to be noticed from the outside; Vic Mick was shouting something incoherently, his words too garbled by the oil and copper for them to make out any of what he was saying.

But in the breadth of another moment, it didn’t seem that the slimy old vampire wasn’t going to be saying much of anything.

A bright white sound started to reverberate inside the confines of the tank, growing and growing in intensity until it started becoming painful. Worried about Freddie’s hearing – he’d never specifically asked, but he’d always assumed that those pretty pointed ears came with more sensitive hearing – Ephram said to his husband, “Deep breath now, babe.” They both gulped in air, and then sank down into the softness of the oil, muffling the silvery sound to a tolerable level.

And fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long; a matching bright white beam came slicing through the thickness of the copper tank like the metal was nothing more than tinfoil, and the two men and a wash of oil spilled out onto the tiled floor of the terrace. Nearby the atronach thrall, poor thing, was just a pile of rubble. Of Vic Mick, nothing remained but a pile of ash that was eroded by the spill of oil.

As Freddie and Ephram spluttered and slipped around, trying to find purchase enough to stand on the slippery tile, the two Radiance peacocks approached, tails fully spread, the white light emanating from their beaks fading as they closed them. They stared at the humans for a while, and then Ephram coughed, “Thanks, fellers,” and the spell seemed to break. One of them folded up its tail again with a content coo, while the other continued to parade as Ephram finally managed to push himself up and bring Freddie with him.

“Reckon they’ll be happy to come with us, huh?” he said cheerily, wiping oil from his face and slicking his dripping hair back.

Freddie’s ears were still ringing a bit as he and Ephram cascaded out onto the terrace; gasping and sputtering, and completely sodden and slick with fragrant oil - but when the peacocks began to walk towards them, he was so struck by their beauty that he neither noticed, nor cared. And when the birds closed their beaks, dousing both the heavenly light and the rapidly softening sound all at once, it was like the pain in his head had never so much as existed at all.

The fairy was actually still just gazing at the Radiances like a ninny when his husband thanked them for their efforts and managed to get them to their feet - though the slippery tile made landing arse over tit again a distinct possibility.

“Right. God. I’m sorry,” Freddie said quickly, jarred back to the moment and finally remembering his manners, “Thank-you.” He glanced over at the pile of rock and the smear of ash that the oil had already nearly obliterated, still slightly wide-eyed and awestruck, “That was…”

A smile broke out across the fairy’s face, sunny and guileless. “…that was bloody incredible, actually.” And, catching the eye of the less demure peacock, the one who’d left his tail out to be admired, he grinned a bit cheekily. “But then you already know that, don’t you?”

The birds seemed to acknowledge this, making a few soft little noises between them that sounded like agreement, and Freddie turned his attention to his darling, reaching up with a chuckle to help tuck Ephram’s oily hair back behind his ears. “I think so, yeah,” he agreed with a bit of laugh, before waggling his eyebrows teasingly.

“So the only question remains, love - do I glamour us tidy again before we head home, or do I take advantage of having you all oiled up for me first?”


End file.
